


Harbors

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7220065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Mycroft both have nightmares, each in their own way. But they also have the other to comfort when they come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harbors

It wasn’t every night. Sometimes they were predictable, certain cases, certain messages, even certain weather. But most often the nightmares would creep in where they were unexpected, disturbing an otherwise restful sleep.

When they came to Greg he’d get particularly still, as if trying to not to be seen. Mycroft would wake to him whimpering softly, jerking away from his touch until he woke up and folded himself silently into Mycroft’s arms, accepting silent comfort from the one person who perhaps could understand a little of what haunted his dreams.

For Mycroft, he’d toss and turn, throwing off the blankets as if trying to escape. Greg would wake him up by talking to him first, before pulling him close; the first time he’d touched Mycroft without waking him first he’d been punched, which resulted in profuse apologies and a rueful smile from Greg that he should have known better.

They didn’t talk about the nightmares outside the small hours of the night. Some things were better discussed in the dark, if they were discussed at all. Sometimes, when they were particularly bad, one would go fetch something stiff for the other to drink, offering silent company until they could sleep again.

Tonight Greg had shown up looking more tired than usual, shadows in his eyes telling Mycroft that tonight the nightmares would probably come. Mycroft already knew what had happened; one advantage of his position. Sometimes he would tell Greg bits and pieces, things that were of no real consequence, but his lover could and did hold secrets and knew that he wouldn’t always know the real reasons behind Mycroft’s bad dreams.

Mycroft had ordered in as soon as he knew Greg was on his way. Though it was late, they ate quietly, Mycroft giving Greg his space and the reassurance of a foot touching his under the table.

Greg drank a bit more wine than he usually did, as if hoping to head off the dreams. Mycroft gently took his glass from him and put the wine away, knowing it wouldn’t help that much. 

While he put away the food, Greg trudged upstairs to the shower. Mycroft soon joined him, stripping and stepping in. Greg let the warm spray run over him as Mycroft gently washed London from his skin, did his best to wash away the violence and the faces and the fears.

They dressed for bed, Mycroft in one of Greg’s old T-shirts, knowing the sight of it would make him crack a smile and shake his head. They slipped into bed and Greg curled up in Mycroft’s arms as if seeking an anchor against the coming storms. Mycroft kissed the top of his head and waited.

Just as Mycroft started to drift off, he felt Greg jerk in his arms before going still, only the speed of his breath giving away the adrenaline spiking through his system.

“Gregory,” he murmured softly, reaching to run fingers through his hair. “You’re here, Gregory.”

Mycroft kept whispering, kept gently touching until Greg pull away and sat up, burying his head between his knees. Mycroft sat up next to him and rubbed his back.

“She was a child,” said Greg, voice rough, barely above a mumble. “Those are always the worst.”

“I know,” said Mycroft.

Greg leaned over and Mycroft wrapped his arms around him. Times like this he wished he could shield his lover, open an umbrella over him and keep all the bad away. But neither of them would ever turn away from their duties. He gently kissed the back of Greg’s neck, letting him know he was here, that neither of them had to face their demons alone anymore.

Finally Greg’s breathing slowed and he raised his head, wiping his face against his sleeve. Mycroft kissed his damp cheek but made no other comment on it.

Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheek and kissed him. Mycroft kissed him back and guided him back down. They lay on their sides, face to face in the darkness, hands clasped together. Greg drifted back to sleep first, and only then did Mycroft gather him in his arms again, breathing in the scent of his hair. “You are the bravest man I know,” he whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear.

He fell asleep himself after a little while longer, knowing the dawn would come too soon, and duty, and work. But they had one another, and there was safety from the storms.

**Author's Note:**

> Was thinking about [this gifset](http://merindab.tumblr.com/post/145985253885/wastingyourgum-starling-girl)


End file.
